Farr Bay
That day, I saw the whales
Twisting and darting
In the turquoise shallows of the bay,
Before they curved for the last time
And headed out to sea.
Stranded by the tide,
The weakest and oldest
Lay - an exaggerated exclamation mark
Blotting a stetch of virgin sand.
The rescuers toiled all night:
Digging channels, heaving buckets,
Pouring water over the great body.
By dawn, the whale was sinking
Deeper into the sand.
Next morning, from where I was standing
High on the springy turf of the headland,
I watched as the beach filled.
People stared, dogs sniffed.
How I longed for one powerful
Thundering wave
To sweep that gentle corpse
Back out to sea.
Black Isle
I didn't like the clootie well.
All those rags dripping from trees.
There was something weird about the place
As though tinkers had left
Thirty years ago and never returned
To this copse on the Black Isle.
Tattered rags laced the trees
Colours faded into grey,
Paraded like yellow ribbons
To remember loved ones lost.
Across the road,
The field was black with crows.
